Page 19 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Friday morning, she sits curled on the couch beside me, sipping her latte like it’s nectar from the gods. I almost don’t want to tell her, but I promised myself I wouldn’t lie.

“I’m meeting a buddy for some beers tonight. Local bar.”

Her smile falters. She looks down at the glass in her hands, her bottom lip catching between her teeth.

I’m on my feet in seconds. “Hey.” I grab her wrist, hating the disappointment and sadness etched all over her face.

“Come here.” My arms band around her, tugging her into my lap before she can argue.

Her legs drape over mine, her hair brushing my chin as I cup her face, forcing her to look up at me.

“There’s no one else, angel. You hear me? Nobody.”

Her eyes flicker up, uncertain.

I kiss her softly, then again, before whispering against her mouth, “Only you.”

The doubt in her gaze eases, replaced by something I’ve never seen from her before—trust. It damn near undoes me.

That afternoon, I drive her to an Italian restaurant in a neighboring town called Willow Creek. It’s small and quiet. The kind of place where the owner personally interacts with guests. We share breadsticks and pasta, and she chatters about college.

When I ask about her future, her whole face lights up. “I want to be a school counselor.”

I smile, leaning back. “You’ll be good at it. What made you choose that profession?”

Her expression falters, shadows clouding her eyes.

I reach across the table to brush my thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to tell me. Not until you’re ready.”

Her shoulders loosen, relief softening her features. She gives me a small, grateful smile, and just like that, the tension melts.

We go back to talking about easier things—books we love, places we’d travel if money didn’t matter.

On the drive back, she threads her fingers through mine. She’s quiet, yet there’s a content look on her face.

“Text me tonight?” she asks softly as we pull into her driveway.

“Every chance I get.”

I kiss her goodnight, slow and lingering, before walking her to her porch. She disappears inside, and the second the door shuts, I already want to see her again.

The Timberline is loud, crowded, and smells like spilled beer. A band is crammed into the corner, playing too close to the pool tables. I spot Grayson at the bar, nursing a draft. He claps me on the shoulder when I join him.

“Good to see you, man.” His grin is easy. “Been too damn long since I had someone to shoot pool with.”

We play a few rounds, trading jabs, the noise of the band rattling the floor.

After his second beer, Grayson leans against his cue.

“My kiddo is having a rough summer. Boyfriend crap. Then a little accident on top of it.” His jaw tightens before he shakes his head.

“I’m throwing a surprise dinner for her tomorrow.

Just a small thing. A couple of her friends.

You should come. Keep me company around the youngsters—and meet her. ”

My stomach knots. The last thing I want is to sit at some family dinner pretending like I belong.

But Grayson’s looking at me like he needs this. Like he’s reaching out.

I run a hand through my hair, then nod once. “Alright. I’ll come.”

His grin is wide. “Good.” He starts to say something else, but the band kicks up again, loud enough to make conversation impossible.

When the noise dims slightly, he yells into my ear, “I’ll text you the address.”

I nod.

We play more pool and drink more beer. And every time Grayson disappears to the restroom, I pull out my phone, typing quick messages to Bri.

Missing her. Wishing I was with her.

And every time her reply comes through, a smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.